


The last dance of Desmond

by ssantisheep



Series: Assassin's creed ficlets [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Because Our Boy Deserves Better, Desmond's slice of life fic, Gen, fic about that time desmond worked in a strip club, honestly guys I don't know, just ficlet desmond centric, kind of?, which apparently isn't canon but i decided it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25111351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssantisheep/pseuds/ssantisheep
Summary: They called him kitten and darling even though some of them weren’t even that much older than him.Or: Desmond had already a found-family before all that Abstergo's bullshit.
Series: Assassin's creed ficlets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818763
Comments: 6
Kudos: 93





	The last dance of Desmond

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. Listen, you guys. I love Desmond to death okay? I could die for that guy. He is the most important thing to have ever existed and I love him so much I can't stop thinking about it and so... This happened. In like an hour or so this was written. It is just a quick ficlet.
> 
> But I want more Desmond's centric fics you all! He deserves it! he suffered enough for us!
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy it.

They called him kitten and darling even though some of them weren’t even that much older than him. But they liked to pamper him, to coo at him: a cute boy, an innocent boy. A boy that wouldn’t touch them or anything.

He was lucky he knew to have found this job, and more importantly that the owner had decided to overlook his lie about his age. He needed someone to clean that he could pay a misery, and Desmond was too desperate for a job to really care at this point.

It’s true that he wouldn’t have imagined himself ending up working in a strip club but, first of all, before he ran away his life was bound to end up as him living in the Farm, forever cut off from the real world, and second of all as long as he wasn’t the one doing the stripping he was fine with it.

(And third this alternative was so much better than working the corner like he saw some poor other teens do. Again he was so lucky.)

He liked the girls. They were pretty and nice. Josefina -her stage name being Cinnamon- brought some food almost every day and shared with anyone who wanted it. Desmond was grateful because some days this was the only thing he could afford.

Alex -Candy- had always funny stories, Maria – Lola- brought him clothes that were now too small for her brothers but fit him pretty good -well for at least a month or two, since apparently he was still growing-.

Veronica -Crystal- could always recommend him some pretty good restaurants not too expensive. Barbara – Charity-, Anna -Cherry-, May -Jade- and Louisa -Diamond- were just nice and funny and ribbed him gently making him feel part of their strange group.

His favorite though was Natasha -Chastity- who had the most expressive green eyes he had ever seen and freckles that seemed to draw constellation of her dark skin.

He liked when he passed in front of their make-up room, hearing the laughs, the teasing and seeing them all pressed in front of the mirror, arranging hair to another, giving advice on make-up, while one of them asked questions from a beauty magazine to know if “their love was meant to last”. The atmosphere was always warm and they seemed to glow with happiness, confidence. They seemed free.

Then the club opened his door and they changed the moment they entered the stage.

But they never change their attitude to Desmond and when they crossed path as he was busy hauling garbage bags across one of the corridors, they always had a smile, a wink, a kiss on the cheek for him.

He belonged, he thought.

“You’re as miserable as us kitten,” Natasha told him “Chance of you making it better are not that high. Of course, I wish you the best but…” she made a face that told him what she thought -and what he thought too- he was a teen with no support trying to survive in the world. He wasn’t trying to make it. He was trying to live long enough to become an adult.

(But even then, it was better, better than waking up every day to beat up the others and get beaten up, to be told that their enemy was out there, searching for them, and it wasn’t safe and they should train if they hope to make it. Listen, listen to us, they repeated, listen to us we know better.)

But his luck ran out. Some men tried to be too handsy with the girls, the security guy was dealing with something else so Desmond -using the training he despised so much- punched the guys away. The girls were grateful. The owner not so much and showed him the door.

The rest was history: Bad weather, Abstergo, Altair, the Assassins, Ezio, Lucy, Clay, Connor, the Grand temple.

But sometimes he would think back to that time, to the hands in his hair, the secrets shared, the glitter covering their bodies that inevitably ended up on some of his clothes too.

He would remember seeing the girls cried sometimes –“of course we do dummies” they told him “we’re human after all, and being treated as an object, a  _ thing _ is so hurtful”- but seeing them always getting over it, and marching onward heads held high.

He would remember Josefina’s Pan de elote; Alex’s stories about her brother and that time he got a knife stuck in his head but suffered no brain damage -and the subsequent frustration of the doctors because it made no sense-; Maria’s sound advice on fashion to pick up girls –“or boys, Desmond, I’m not judging”-; Veronica inviting him to test a ramen restaurant, probably the best ramen he had ever eaten; Barbara’s laughing at bad puns, Anna’s hair changing color almost every week and that time they were rainbow-colored “it’s pride month bitches!”, May’s passion for awful, awful telenovela and trying to make him watch it “you’ll start and then you’ll be unable to stop! You’ll see!”, Louisa’s offering to paint his nails or to teach him makeup which he accepted on a whim and the subsequent laughter that had followed “blue is not your color! I’m sorry Desmond!” and Natasha’s wise advice and being the one that first taught him how to mix cocktails and giving him a real shot at a better life.

(If only Abstergo wasn’t real. If only it really was only faded dreams and bullshit from paranoid adults living in a sect, afraid of society and not a real conspiracy with almost magic artifacts and prophecy bullshit.)

He never saw them again once he was fired. He was too busy trying to find a job -that didn’t involve him being on the street- to have time to see them.

Besides, it wouldn’t have been the same. Maybe they would have changed, maybe they wouldn’t remember him. Maybe they wouldn’t even be here anymore.

But he missed them all the same. They had been the first friends he made who didn’t expect anything from him except maybe his attention when they wanted someone to talk to.

They didn’t want him to kill people, they didn’t want him to relive his ancestors’ life to find a secret weapon, they didn’t want him to train, train and  _ train _ to climb a building with no gear on.

They had just been happy with him there with them.

And somehow that had been more than enough for him.

“We’re like a family,” Rebecca said smiling. They were all sitting around one of the makeshift tables, trying to eat dinner together, the Grand Temple humming around them. Shaun had snorted: “fantastic” he muttered under his breath but his tight was touching Rebecca’s and he had a small smile on his lips. Even Bill seemed, for now, less wound up than usual.

Desmond thought of a bunch of women, with almost no clothes on their back, with glitter covering their bodies, makeup in all color of the rainbow, and thought “I already had one.”

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it don't hesitate to let a kudos or a comment ;)
> 
> See you later!


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